Disclaimer: I do not own anything...

A/N: I do not usually update this quickly, btw...I just felt inspired. Thanks to all of you lovely reviewers!

The next day was Monday, and the start of the new semester. Ms. Smith came to collect me after I had dressed in the school uniform and eaten breakfast (watery oatmeal, which was only rendered eatable after a packet of sugar and some fruit had been mixed into it). She guided me into the large school building, through the foreboding foyer where I had first arrived yesterday, and down a dizzying maze of corridors, and then delivered me to what I deduced to be the main office of the school. A secretary sat with a large black typewriter just inside the door, and there were green leather chairs set out to serve as some sort of waiting area. She sat me down in one and went into an office with a bronze plaque on the door, which read "student services." I waited quietly, looking around the office at the gloomy paintings of landscapes, all either depicting rain or night.

A few minutes later, Ms. Smith came back out with a stack of paper and a manila folder. She handed them to me, saying, "This is your class schedule, map of the school, and copies of the bell schedule and the semester calendar. You will be expected to learn all of the information in that packet in the next few weeks. Any questions?"

I shook my head. "No, Ms. Smith."

"Very good. Academics are greatly valued at Lowood, and I expect you to succeed. Your aunt expects you to succeed. You have half an hour before classes start—I suggest you gather your school supplies and try to locate your first class. Your roommates can help you."

"Thank you, Ms. Smith," I said submissively.

'Well, go on, then!" She pointed towards the door. I went, although I then became immediately lost in the (what seemed to me) labyrinth of passages. I had to pull out the map of the school and re-check it every time I reached an intersection, and by the time I located the foyer it was already filling with girls. Racing back to my dorm room, I managed to gather up some school supplies and shove them hastily into my old school bag before the ten minute warning bell rang. Back in the foyer, I sought out Lucy and discovered we both started in the same class: math, taught by a Mr. Scatcherd.

I later found that not only was Mr. Scatcherd the only male teacher in the school (barring, of course, Mr. Brocklehurst); he was also the harshest and strictest. My first impressions of him lead me to agree with the popular consensus of the other students at Lowood.

After seating us alphabetically and handing out our textbooks, he launched right into a review of the previous year. Luckily, the last school I had attended was very good, so my worries about being behind the other students were groundless. After twenty minutes, he began drilling us. Again, he went alphabetically:

"Miss Aerie: the product of twelve and four," he barked.

"Fourty-eight, sir."

"Miss Baker: the difference of ninety and twenty two."

"Sixty-eight, sir."

"Miss Burns: the square root of one hundred and sixty-nine."

Silence.

"Miss Burns?"

The girl in question was tall and had short, curly red hair and sat in the middle of the first column. Her head was bent downwards and her gaze directed at something in her lap.

Mr. Scatcherd was livid. "Miss Burns!" he shouted. The girl jumped and looked up, startled. Mr. Scatchered walked down the row and snatched the book from her lap. "Reading in class, are we?" he sneered, snapping the cover shut. "And only the first day of school." His voice was laced with sarcasm. "How tragic. Get up, Miss Burns."

Miss Burns (I did not know her first name) got up, and walked to the front of the class next to Mr. Scatcherd. Her face was carefully blank.

"Get the ruler, Miss Burns."

The girl turned and picked up a wooden ruler from the ledge of the window. She handed it to Mr. Scatcherd. He grasped one end so tightly that his knuckled turned white.

"Hold out your right hand, Miss Burns."

She held out her hand impassively. I suddenly realized what was about to occur and my stomach lurched. I could only watch as Mr. Scatcherd brought the ruler down (hard) on the girl's palm.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Miss Burns squeezed her eyes shut, but did not utter a sound.

Smack! Smack!

Mr. Scatcherd stopped, and Miss Burns cautiously opened her eyes. He looked at her disgustedly. "I see that this punishment did not suffice to correct you of your fault. You will report to me after class."

A rage slowly consumed me at the injustice of the matter. Did he not see the unshed tears in her eyes? Did he not see her tremble as she slowly walked back down the aisle and gingerly sit down at her desk? I searched of a word, any word, to describe his actions.

"Sadistic," I thought. "That word would surely be fitting for him."

Further exploration of my feelings was prevented, as Mr. Scatcherd barked "Miss Delaney: the sum of ninety-two and forty!"

Later, at lunch, Lucy and I related the story to the rest of the table. May was as outraged as I had been.

"How dare he? I didn't even know people were allowed to do that kind of thing any more!"

"Neither did I," I said. "Maybe we could report it."

"To whom? Do you know how hard-pressed this school is for teachers? They only employ about ten. I remember when I first came here—I was six—they had twice that."

"What happened?"

"Mr. Brocklehurst came. No one likes him—and if anyone did, it wouldn't matter; he made the decision to cut costs or something of the teacher's pay. I remember overhearing Frau Schwarz—the old German teacher—talking about it with Ms Temple."

Lucy shook her head. "It just isn't fair."

Polly sighed. "Life is never fair."

"Amen to that," said Emily, across the table.

The rest the school day passed uneventfully. My last class, chorus, was taught by Ms. Temple, who I became convinced was the only teacher with a kindred soul. I also shared this class with Miss Burns, but I was unable to talk to her.

After the bell rang, girls either headed off to the library to study, or went to the gymnasium to play sports. Since I had never been one for athletics, I opted for the library.

Once there, I found that I was at a loss for something to do. None of my teachers had assigned homework yet. Looking around, I spotted a now familiar tuft of frizzy red hair.

Miss Burns sat at a glossy oaken table, reading a book. From the colors on the cover, I was able to identify it as the same book Mr. Scatcherd had taken from her that morning.

"Hi," I said, sitting down in the chair next to Miss Burns.

She barely glanced up from the page. "Hello."

"What're you reading?"

"The Catcher in the Rye."

"What's it about?"

Miss Burns let me read the back cover. I decided it wasn't something I was likely to read: there were no mysteries, no magic, no fairies or spells. I gave it back.

"I'm Jane Eyre," I said. "I'm in a few of your classes."

"I know."

"I never got your first name."

"I'm Helen."

"Aren't you angry at Mr. Scatcherd? I would've told someone."

"Mr. Scatcherd was right to punish me; I have a fault, and it needs to be corrected."

I was appalled. "Maybe so, but he shouldn't have hit you."

"What else was he to do?"

"Make you write sentences? That's what the teachers at my last school did."

Helen glanced up. "How would that correct anything?"

"After writing 'I will not talk back in class' one hundred times, one remembers."

"I prefer being hit; it is much quicker."

I didn't know how to reply; I saw her point, although I still believed it to be too harsh a punishment.

"Would you mind not asking any more questions? I'm reading."

"Okay." I got up, selected a book, and sat back down next the Helen, flipping to the first page. We stayed and read until the shadows outside the tall windows lengthened and the bell rang again. Helen shut the covers of her book.

"Are you done?"

"Yes. Would you like to go to dinner?"

"Yes; I'm starving." I hurried to put my book back on the shelf, and together with Helen, left the library.